


Irreconcilable Differences

by blue_jack



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gift Exchange, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: The first thing Bucky saw when he woke up was Tony Stark staring grimly down at him.





	Irreconcilable Differences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitochondrials](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/gifts).



> Happy holidays, mitochondrials! This didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it to >_> and honestly needs to be like 20K longer to do it justice, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
> 
> This was for the WinterIron Holiday Exchange on tumblr. Thanks to the mods for organizing this and all their hard work!

The first thing Bucky saw when he woke up was Tony Stark staring grimly down at him.

It actually took a long time for him to recognize the man standing over him, his brain sluggishly trying to match the face with a name, but when he did, he realized how very fucked he was. He had one—very human—arm, he felt groggy and uncoordinated and would for quite a while as he woke up fully, and he had no weapons.

The only things in his favor were that he wasn’t dead yet and that since Stark hadn’t killed him while he was in stasis, Stark likely underestimated him. That meant he’d be careless, and Bucky could probably stall him and get ahold of something to knock him unconscious so he could escape. He scanned the room with a flick of his eyes, determining the best paths to various objects as well as making sure there wasn’t anything or anyone—where were the Wakandans?—to impede his exit once he’d incapacitated Stark. It wouldn’t be easy, especially since he was further handicapped by knowing Steve didn’t want Stark dead, but he— 

Stark cleared his throat, and Bucky tensed, cursing internally. He had to get past the aftereffects of the stasis faster than this.

“You don’t like me,” Stark said, slowly raising his arms, showing he was defenseless. As if Bucky were that stupid. He’d seen some of the things Stark could do. “And I sure as hell don’t like you. But heaven help us, we both like Steve, and—”

“What about Steve?” Bucky growled, not realizing he’d half-crawled out of the cryo chamber until he nearly fell on his face. Stark caught him before he could hit the floor. The fucker.

Stark’s face was too damn close, and Bucky could see the hesitation. And the subsequent resolve. “The vampires have him.”

\-----

The first thing Bucky wanted to say after Stark explained everything, after he told him that the serum in Steve’s blood was making the vampires even more powerful, was that vampires weren’t real. But if gods from other planets and chemically-created super soldiers and secret organizations that tried to take over the world were real, then who the hell could say that vampires weren’t real as well?

So instead he told Stark, “I want proof,” because while it seemed far fetched that Stark would concoct such an elaborate and frankly unbelievable story just to get his cooperation, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility either.

“You can have all the proof you want as soon as you’re able to walk out of here,” Stark said, rubbing the lower half of his face, and either he was one hell of an actor, or he was exhausted and worried and on edge. Angry too, although that one, Bucky definitely believed. “But in the meanwhile, I want you to start thinking about this.”

Even before Stark opened the case, Bucky knew what it was. A one-armed man who was used to having two arms wouldn’t be much help against vampires. 

But it was still a sock to the gut to see the arm. 

There was no star, Bucky noticed right away, but everything else … everything else looked exactly the same. 

Well, not exactly everything, Bucky realized, looking at the arc reactor in the palm.

His fingers ached with the urge to reach out, but he knew better than to reveal himself like that. So he didn’t say anything, and waited for Stark to eventually fill in the silence.

“I did the best that I could with the amount of time I had and considering the fact that I couldn’t take exact measurements,” as if the marvel in front of them was inferior somehow. As if Bucky hadn’t harbored fears that now that he wasn’t part of Hydra anymore, the most he could hope for was a prosthetic arm that only allowed him the most basic of functions.

“I know you have no reason to trust me. For the longest time, I barely trusted _myself_ at the thought of you,” Stark admitted, the words sounding rough as he looked away, and Bucky once again considered the likelihood of him acting. “But Steve needs us, and I can’t do it alone.”

“There isn’t anyone else, is there?” he asked, because he wouldn’t have been Stark’s first choice—had to be barely qualify as his last.

Stark met his eyes, his mouth a flat line. “No. No, there’s not.”

He gave a short nod, unsurprised. “You’re still giving an incredibly dangerous weapon to a known murderer and fugitive from the law,” he said, pushing aside the background guilt and regret at bringing up, however obliquely, the death of Stark’s parents. He needed to see how Stark reacted, even if it meant hurting him— _especially_ if it meant hurting him. It wasn’t as if he could test the arm for hidden traps, not if the situation were as dire as Stark was saying it was. 

_Then why not mention Howard and Maria Stark by name?_ a voice in his head whispered. He ignored it, even though he knew it’d have a much higher probability of revealing if Stark still wanted to kill him or was setting up some elaborate scheme to turn Steve away from him. Still, that wasn’t caution, it was cruelty, and Bucky chose not to do it.

Stark’s body tensed, his lip curling, his hands clenching into fists before opening jerkily. “I’m giving a weapon to someone who wants to save Steve,” Stark said, his voice rasping harshly, “who cares more about him not spending the rest of his life being sucked dry by vampires than anything that … than anything that’s happened in the past.” The last words were spoken quietly, the anger apparently breaking apart in the face of Steve’s need. Bucky didn’t buy it. 

But Stark could’ve killed him already. Multiple times, Bucky knew, remembering all the chances Stark had had in the past. And if Steve were really captured … if vampires really existed and had him … the possibility was too horrific to ignore. He’d get his proof first. But in the meantime … 

“Tell me about the arm.”

\-----

“Fuck,” Bucky said as he stared at the ashes just two feet away from him.

“ _Barnes_!” Stark sounded frantic. “Did he get you? Are you hurt?”

Stark had warned him there were vampires in Wakanda. There were vampires everywhere apparently. But it was typically one vampire with an army of subjugated humans around him. People could be turned into one of the Undead, but it was a lengthy process, and not one that was done indiscriminately. 

“It’d be like dressing up a cow in a bespoke suit and inviting it to eat at your table,” Stark had said, his smile hard and mocking, although it hadn’t been aimed at Bucky. “You’d have to believe that it’s capable of learning small-talk and manners and, I don’t know, willing to get incredibly invasive reconstructive surgery, and this analogy is getting away from me here, but you get the idea.”

Bucky had. A person would have to be exemplary in order to be offered something like that.

People could, however, be controlled. Very easily. Even the weakest vampire could handle ten humans at a time.

So right before they’d emerged from the building, Stark had scanned for heat signatures.

“Vampires don’t show up in my scans,” he’d warned. “I don’t know if it’s a combination of their lower core temperatures and hell, magic or whatever it is that animates them, but I can’t pick them up, so keep your eyes out. We should be able to avoid people—”

He’d stopped at Bucky’s look.

“People are dangerous now. The vampires can control almost anyone if they look into your eyes, and they have spies. It’s not just all kill or capture on sight. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Except you?” Bucky had asked, blandly enough, but all his skepticism coming through.

“Their mind control thing doesn’t work through the suit’s mask, through any kind of screen really, otherwise they would’ve taken over the world through television. So you can … trust that I’m still me, for whatever value that holds for you. As long as you never lose sight of me. Once you do, I can’t guarantee I won’t have been ambushed by a vampire and be under their control.”

“What about me? Do you have another mask for me?”

Stark had nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do have something. I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with a helmet, so there’s more of a danger of having it pulled off, but it should do as long as you can keep your distance.”

Stark had also provided a gun and several pre-loaded clips—although he hadn’t offered them until he’d been safe in his armor, which Bucky had actually approved of—warning Bucky it wouldn’t have much effect on the vampires, but it’d at least protect him from the humans. 

“Once the vampire’s dead, they come back to their senses, so try not to aim anywhere lethal if you can help it,” Stark had said as Bucky had checked out the .45 pistol, but he’d sounded dubious.

So he’d followed Stark out, the goggles Stark had given him cupped loosely in his hand, because while he’d been willing to be convinced it wasn’t all a trick, he hadn’t believed yet. 

It’d only been chance that Bucky had seen something out of the corner of his eye, and when he’d turned, the vampire had started shrieking, its red eyes seeming to pulse with hunger as it flew full-speed toward him. The sound was so loud that only years of training kept him from covering his ears and taking his weapon off his target.

Not that the gun Stark had given him even slowed it down.

He staggered when Stark shoved him, so he went with the motion, rolling, bringing his gun up towards Stark, wondering which one was going to kill him first.

But Stark’s arms were pointed at the vampire, and the vampire itself was just ash, floating to the ground.

“ _Barnes_! Did he get you? Are you hurt?”

He blinked at the remains and then at Stark—Stark, who had gotten on one knee next to him, who’d shoved up the front of his helmet, both actions leaving him vulnerable to Bucky’s gun. Stark, who had naked worry in his eyes.

No one had looked at him like that in a long time other than St—

No. What was he thinking? Not for him. Not for the murderer of Stark’s parents. For Steve.

“So,” Bucky said as he engaged the safety and lowered his gun, trying to get back into the right headspace all the while. “Vampires.”

“Yeah,” Stark laughed shakily, exhaling and rubbing his face. “Vampires.”

\-----

They went back inside the lab, and he let Stark attach the arm.

“It took me a while, but I’ve modified the repulsor technology to be able to take out the vampires,” Stark said, fiddling with the connections. “Which means I had to include a mini-arc reactor in the arm.” His gaze darted up to meet Bucky’s. “Don’t let anyone steal it.”

As if he really intended to let anyone steal his arm. “I won’t. In return, you never flip whatever kill switch you have embedded in here.” Because there had to be one. Stark might need him, but he wouldn’t have trusted him with his technology if he hadn’t had a way to control it.

Stark looked away, but he at least did him the courtesy of not denying it.

“It wouldn’t hurt you,” Stark said at last. “Well, there would’ve been a shockwave as the arc reactor self-destructed, which wouldn’t have hurt _much_ ,” he corrected himself somewhat sheepishly, “since it’s in a self-contained compartment, but after that, it just wouldn’t have been able to fire anything. The arm itself would’ve stayed functional. ” Stark’s eyes locked with his. “I wouldn’t have taken that away from you.”

Bucky couldn’t say why, but even though he knew he shouldn’t believe Stark, strangely enough, he did.

\-----

Stark had a private jet hidden a few miles away. They encountered two more vampires on their way there, but Stark took care of them both. Bucky had tried to help, but his blasts had gone wide. He knew it was just a matter of practice, unaccustomed as he was to the way the repulsors fired and the recoil in his arm, but it was still frustrating.

Stark apparently could tell. “The first time I used one of the arm repulsors, I knocked myself onto my back,” he said wryly, and it wasn’t as if Bucky expected encouragement or needed it. But the fact that Stark was offering it … 

He hadn’t asked how much time had passed since he’d entered stasis, too busy with everything else, but it had to have been a long time for Stark to be able to say anything positive to him.

“What’s wrong?” He looked at Stark. “You’re right; you’re right. That’s a stupid question. It’d be easier to ask what _isn’t_ —”

“How long have I been under?” _This time_ , he wanted to add, but he kept that to himself. It wasn’t a question that would’ve been allowed with Hydra, but he thought Stark would tell him, if only to rub it in.

But Stark didn’t gloat or turn scornful, just sobered and said, “Assuming you went into stasis right after everything with the Accords, it’s been about seven months.”

Seven months? That wasn’t half as long as Bucky had been expecting. Not long enough to get over discovering your parents had been murdered. Definitely not long enough to be in the same room as their assassin without trying to hurt him under normal circumstances.

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me,” he told Stark. He understood that Stark needed him, but the fake camaraderie was pointless.

“I’m not being nice to you!” Stark said, scowling, looking offended almost, and the fact that he wasn’t denying the pretending but the act of being kind itself was so ridiculous that it made Bucky’s lips twitch, the barest of movements, but there nonetheless.

Stark blinked at him, looking surprised, and Bucky made sure to wipe his expression to its normal blank mask before turning away.

\-----

Stark tried to engage him on the plane, hesitantly at first and then with more determination, but Bucky didn’t respond unless it was a direct question, and even then, he kept his answers brief. It didn’t stop Stark from filling in the silence on his own, but oddly, it was actually somewhat relaxing listening to Stark’s monologues. Bucky was used to silence, but he enjoyed the soothing murmur of Stark’s voice, both as a marker of Stark’s location—not that there were many ways he could sneak up on him in such an enclosed space—and as proof that Bucky wasn’t alone. 

There had been many times that he’d preferred solitude. But there was comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one doing this. There was still the possibility that this was all fabricated somehow, or Stark was taking advantage of the situation to capture him while everyone was occupied elsewhere. 

If the vampires did have Steve, however, then having Stark on the same side was … reassuring. Even if Bucky failed, there’d still be someone who’d do everything in his power to rescue Steve, had already done the unthinkable for his sake, and if that were true, if Stark could really push the past aside in order to see Steve safe … 

It wasn’t as if Bucky weren’t already tied to Stark with chains of guilt and shame, but ones forged from gratitude would be so much easier to bear.

\-----

“Stark!” Bucky shouted, trying to blink the blood from his eyes as he staggered upright. “ _Stark!_ ”

Five vampires. Five. When they’d only ever encountered one at a time up until now; when Stark had told him they preferred to hunt with their horde of humans who’d do the dirty work.

Stark had said he’d hidden supplies, that they’d need them for the fight ahead. He’d insisted they’d be safe picking them up but had told Bucky to stay inside the jet, just in case. As if Bucky needed to be _coddled_. As if he hadn’t been taking care of himself long before Stark had even been born.

He’d been … unsettled. Annoyed partly, and disbelieving, and slightly suspicious still, and confused. 

It made him distracted enough that he’d been caught off guard by the distant sound of the first repulsor blast, had felt something like panic at Stark’s yell, filled with pain and fury, which had abruptly been cut off. He’d run out of the jet and down the passageway Stark had gone, had seen the four—the _four_ —vampires surrounding Stark and hadn’t noticed the fifth one until it was too late.

It had taken too much effort and time to destroy it, and by the time he’d finally managed to kill it, Stark had been on the ground, his body twitching. 

“ _Stark!_ ”

There were smears of something dark along the floor, particles floating off into the air, but there were still two vampires left, one tearing at Stark’s gloves, the other at his boots.

Bucky shot the one near Stark’s feet in the head five times with his gun. It just seemed to make it mad if the way it turned and snarled at him were any indication, but that was fine. It was what he’d been hoping for, the vampire rushing towards him, away from Stark so Bucky’s aim couldn’t injure him further, and Bucky’s first blast took out the left side of its torso—he was still off, _fuck_ —while the second took out the rest.

The last vampire screamed in fury, but it didn’t leave Stark’s side, throwing something away with a sharp clang, and Bucky realized they’d succeeded in getting rid of the repulsors, that Stark’s helmet had been the latest sacrifice, Stark’s face covered in blood, his head lolling to the side. 

The vampire smiled, the expression somehow more chilling than anything else Bucky had seen, and then it was lunging down, its lips pulled back and fangs bared as Bucky remembered Stark telling him that there were only a handful of people the vampires deemed worthy of turning—

 _No_. They already had Steve. Bucky wouldn’t let them—

He fired.

And then scrambled forward as soon as he saw the explosion of ash, his heart pounding painfully, not knowing if he’d gotten Stark in the process, if he’d killed Tony, just like he’d killed Howard and Maria, if he'd taken out the only person who—

He threw himself next to Stark’s body, ignoring the pain in his knees, and then had to sit the rest of the way down when he saw Stark blink blearily up at him, blood trickling from a cut in his forehead but alive.

“Well, fuck,” Stark rasped, and Bucky let out a shuddering exhale, feeling _thankful_ of all things and overwhelmingly relieved, and he nodded, putting his hand on Stark's shoulder, just needing to touch him for a second.

\-----

Stark—

“You know, you can call me Tony if you want.”

“No.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

—tried to draw him out in conversation on the plane again.

This time, Bucky let him.


End file.
